


Piano Forte

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [107]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-26
Updated: 2007-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian gets quite a birthday gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piano Forte

**Author's Note:**

  * For [padawanewan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/padawanewan/gifts).



> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Nerowill, Emila-Wan, Carol, and Padawan Sue  
> Mali Wane for posting  
> My former betas: Alex and Ula
> 
> Dedicated to Jedi Runya and Padawan Ewan for their thoughtful gifts to me.

Quinn smiled at the cherrywood upright piano gleaming at him in their living room. He'd asked the movers to place it across from the fireplace. Now, all he needed was for Ian to come home and discover his birthday present.  
  
July 8th, his lad's 29th birthday. Yet he still looked like a student to Quinn's besotted eyes. He couldn't believe more than four years had passed since their meeting on the train. And the perfect gift had fallen into his lap, as Ian himself just might after seeing it.  
  
Jessica, Case's secretary, had bought a new house recently and needed to unload her piano before the move. She'd only asked a few hundred dollars for it, since it was over thirty years old, untuned, and scratched by her tomcat, Jan.  
  
But Quinn knew it was just what Ian wanted. Almost every time they visited Padua, his husband serenaded him on the baby grand he'd learned to play as a child. Why should those nimble fingers have to wait so long between chords?  
  
Ian had gifted him with a Brownsville acoustic guitar for their Windover anniversary last year, and as he'd strummed it, Quinn had started thinking of a piano for Ian. A duet with his lad on a peaceful Sunday evening sounded like heaven to him. He'd gone to a few shops, but a new piano these days cost thousands of dollars, baby grands even more.  
  
So Jessica's Falcone upright was the answer to his dreams, and hopefully Ian's. Only a few more minutes, and Ian's committee meeting would be over. He couldn't wait to see his lad's reaction.  
  
Quinn had turned one of the easy chairs around, so he could gaze at the piano, perfectly positioned underneath a Hildebrandt print of The Prancing Pony. He chuckled -- Ian had said that before he'd found the courage to speak to him on the train, he himself had seemed as forbidding as Strider had to the hobbits when they first met.  
  
Ah, the key in the door. The room seemed to brighten with Ian's arrival as light glinted over the cherrywood.  
  
"Hey, Quinn!" Ian walked into the hall with a grin just for his husband.  
  
Quinn got up from the easy chair to kiss him soundly, though he knew that would delay Ian's surprise. Who could resist those lips?  
  
"Mmm...just what I needed." Ian nuzzled against Quinn's jaw. "You're lucky to be on the Qualifying Exam committee again. Textbook's a real debating society. We've already revised the syllabi three times, and there's still a month and a half to go before classes."  
  
Quinn couldn't resist a chuckle; Case had reassigned him after he'd made some decidedly pithy comments against including Sons and Lovers in an intro course.  
  
Quinn turned Ian in his arms as if they were dancing. He knew the exact moment his lad spotted the piano. Ian's eyes got that 'kid in a candy store' look, and their welcome-home kiss became a thank-you kiss in no time flat.  
  
"Happy Birthday, laddie!" Quinn crowed, and Ian's birthday kiss was next.  
  
"Oh, Quinn, thank you. Can't believe it...our very own piano." Ian tapped Middle C, and hid his grin at the result. He'd try to get a tuner in this week.  
  
Quinn beamed. "Glad you like it. I'll bring my guitar in later, and we can riff together."  
  
Ian smiled as he thought of Quinn's whisper-sung Greensleeves in the Williamsburg moonlight so long ago. He reached for Quinn's hand and led him to the couch, where they kicked their shoes off before sitting down. "How 'bout a riff right now?" So saying, he pulled his husband in for a deep kiss.  
  
Quinn enthusiastically followed his lead, tasting the latte Ian had sipped during his meeting, as well as the pure excitement which burned through his lad at his touch. He pushed Ian down on the couch, covering him with more warmth than their quilt ever could.  
  
Ian squirmed under him, hungry for Quinn's every caress. Each brush of Quinn's shirt over his forearms sensitized them further, until they were almost ticklish. When Quinn went for his chin, Ian was quick to suckle the bump on his nose, eager to take advantage of its proximity. Their height differential made it a tantalizing prize, his to capture and devour.  
  
Quinn lavished attention on Ian's dimple, endlessly fascinated by it, even after four years of foreplay. And Ian's reaction! A kiss evoked a sigh; a lick made him groan; a suckle earned a grunt. Sweeter music than any piano could hope to make, even with tuning.  
  
Quinn was something of an expert at undressing his lad even in his current state: pinned beneath him and wriggling. He somehow managed to open the buttons on Ian's shirt with one hand and ease it off his shoulders and arms, his laddie's flexibility helping out considerably.  
  
Ian arched helplessly when he felt Quinn's hand on his belt buckle. His husband's broad fingers brushed his erection teasingly as they worked on the stiff metal. Ian's bulge almost jammed the zipper, but Quinn coaxed it down with finesse.  
  
Quinn growled when Ian started wiggling to help get his boxer briefs and pants down. Fingers trembling on top of Ian's, he eased them over muscular legs. If he didn't finish undressing him soon, Quinn would come in his own slacks. Ah, finally!  
  
Quinn dove onto his lad still fully clothed. Ian was naked save for his socks, which somehow made it all the hotter. He couldn't wait for the niceties of undressing himself, and batted Ian's hands away when they went for his shirt buttons. All he wanted was to reduce his lad to incoherency under him.  
  
Ian gasped as Quinn drove into him, the cloth between their shafts caressing his flesh and teasing him with its texture. He rubbed up against it, craving the friction and feel of Quinn's hard length straining to rip the fabric.  
  
Quinn's hands were all over Ian, who was convinced his husband was part Besalisk. Rubbing his thumbs over increasingly rosy nipples, Quinn kissed equally ripe cheeks, living on Ian's moans. He cupped Ian's ribs, the taut heat under his palms turning him on even more.  
  
Nuzzling into Ian's stomach, Quinn felt the welcome bump of Ian's erection against his chin. His laddie's groans were music to his ears. He kissed the head, and felt it surge up against his lips. Ian's hands tightened on his shoulders, just as he licked off the first drop of pre-come. He started suckling the sweet flesh, feeling it grow impossibly harder in his mouth.  
  
A copper hair tickled his tongue, and he reluctantly let Ian go to peel it off and throw it on the carpet.  
  
"Qui-please!" Ian begged, desperate to be inside that beautiful mouth again.  
  
Not stopping to answer, Quinn swallowed him whole, and felt the vibrations from Ian's shout. Ian bucked under him, shoving himself even deeper inside Quinn's mouth. A tender suckle sent Ian shuddering into climax, right leg dropping off the side of the couch.  
  
Quinn couldn't quite swallow all the cream, but he more than made up for it by lapping at Ian's sensitized skin until he was completely clean. Then Quinn held him, calming him with soothing touches and very wet kisses.  
  
It didn't take Ian long to notice the hard shaft digging into his left thigh. Quinn knew just when he felt it by his mischievous grin.  
  
"Mmmm. All set for Round Two, then?" Ian's sweet, spicy smile made Quinn even harder. "What's your pleasure?" Ian murmured, and might as well have said it directly to Quinn's groin.  
  
"Your touch," Quinn said, voice as velvety soft as his skin. His slacks were damp with pre-come, so Ian had to peel them off carefully, his own shaft twitching in harmony when Quinn writhed from the stimulation.  
  
Finally, finally! Quinn was free, but not for long. Ian's fingers captured him and started to pet his shaft, which immediately pushed into his hand. Ian crooned endearments as he stroked his husband into a frenzy.  
  
Quinn thrust upward into the firm warmth surrounding him, just as his tongue thrust inside his lad's yielding mouth. A few more erratic jabs had Quinn coming into Ian's hand with a longshoreman's yell. He dropped back to the couch with barely enough energy for an exhausted grin. He caught his breath before saying, "Wow! I thought it was *your* birthday."  
  
Ian kissed a droplet of sweat running down Quinn's temple. "And you've made it a wonderful one. Thank you." He grinned when he noticed that Quinn's shirt-tail was soaked through, and wiped his hand on it. He was careful to push it aside before settling on top of his husband, ready for a nap now.  
  
Though a party was waiting for him in Padua that evening, Ian had already had his real celebration. 


End file.
